#in hopes that i can still find the way back to the moment ( valinor )

[elerrinacrownedwithstars]

This was supposed to be a more coherent and structured post but my brain is mush so instead you get a bit more chaotic representation.

was thinking of how sometimes you see arguments that Beren and Lúthien get "plot armour" and are treated differently because they are Tolkien's self-inserts for himself and his wife.

and I will allow this is true tuo some extent, especially in the case of Lúthien, but I don't think their story and the success of their quest is because it's self-gratifying fanfiction.

not plot armour or self-inserts but secret third thing: Beren and Lúthien are a part of Ilúvatar's own device to bring down Morgoth and Sauron, and they are able to do the impossible because they have divine favour on their side. (I think it's even said in Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth that if the union of Elf and Man should be achieved, it would be for "some high purpose of doom" - I see what you did there, Tolkien.)

Sam and Frodo are also part of this device (and when you think about it, their quest parallels B&L in many ways).

LOTR arguably confirms this: in TT, Sam and Frodo discuss the Quest for the Silmaril and Sam proposes that they're in the same tale still.

in both cases it's people who no one thought of as powerful or important, and so easily underestimated, that overcome all odds.

it's great that these deeds are worked Ilúvatar's Children, whom Morgoth and Sauron see only as useful slaves.

Beren steals a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth -> it eventually passes to Elwing -> she brings the Silmaril to Eärendil -> Eärendil uses the light of the Silmaril to find Valinor and fulfills his prophesied fate of pleading mercy for Elves and Men -> Eärendil becomes the Star of High Hope -> Elwing and Eärendil's descendants go on to found the kingdoms that keep Sauron at bay so that he never manages to subdue Middle-earth completely and resistance can rise at the crucial moment to finally destroy him -> Galadriel gives the light of Eärendil's star to Frodo -> the light that comes from the same Silmaril that Beren and Lúthien fought for aids Frodo on his journey to Mount Doom.

as for divine favour/mercy as protection: B&L are saved by the eagles from certain death, they are allowed to return to life and Lúthien alone of the Children is permitted to change her fate (change, not choose like Eärendil and Elwing and their descendants) so that Elwing can eventually be born and be the link between the Silmaril and Eärendil (Elwing also survives two Kinslayings against all odds), the Ring is allowed to be destroyed even though Frodo had essentially failed, and he and Sam are brought back to the lands of the living from the literal mouth of hell.

B&L and S&F are also rewarded for their efforts: B&L get their happily ever after, Frodo is granted an access to the only place where he may heal and experience the greatest bliss that can be had in Arda, and Sam lives a long, fulfilling and busy life (he even gets to tend to and beautify the Shire with Galadriel's gift and in a way fulfill the ambition of creating a great garden the Ring tempted him with).

Like, Ilúvatar used the same device - the love his Children had for one another - twice and it worked both times, but that very much tracks in his legendarium, because while it's the fundamental force of Arda that takes shape in hope and pity and mercy and friendship, his villains regularly scorn and underestimate it. And because of that, Morgoth and Sauron never see B&L and F&S coming.

[aylen-san]

Werewolf Troubles in Aman

Aman, the end of the First Age

Finrod Felagund sat on the marble steps of his parents' palace, pondering his new and unusual state. The surrounding garden was bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, and the air was filled with the aromas of rare flowers brought from all corners of Valinor. After his unfortunate death at the hands of a werewolf and his swift resurrection in Valinor, he had discovered an unusual ability he had never possessed before. He could now transform into a wolf. Despite all his efforts, he had not yet learned to fully control the transformations, although he remained fully conscious when he became a beast. This was both intriguing and extremely inconvenient.

Finrod recalled his encounter with Sauron in the dark dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, where his life had ended so abruptly. But now, in the peace and safety of Valinor, those memories seemed distant and almost unreal. Nonetheless, the shadow of the past continued to haunt him, and his new ability only amplified this feeling.

Finrod's gaze wandered over the magnificent architecture of the palace, reflecting the sun's gleam on the marble columns and golden decorations. He understood that his situation had changed forever. He needed to learn to live with this gift or curse, and he knew it would not be easy to manage alone.

"Finrod, dear, what are you doing outside? Come inside, your father wants to talk to you," called his mother, Queen Eärwen, her voice soft and melodious like the rustle of leaves in the wind.

"Yes, mother, I'm coming," replied Finrod, standing up and heading towards the palace. He cast a final glance at the garden, hoping that the tranquility of nature would help calm his inner turmoil.

As he entered the hall where his parents awaited him, he felt a familiar stirring within his chest. "Oh no, not now," he thought, trying not to panic. The magnificent hall was adorned with splendid tapestries and wood carvings depicting scenes from the history of the Noldor. The chandeliers made of sparkling gemstones filled the room with soft light, but even this splendor could not calm the storm rising inside him.

Finrod met his father's gaze, King Arafinwë, and saw concern and anticipation on his face. "Finrod," began Arafinwë, but Finrod was already struggling to maintain his human form. Clenching his fists, he tried to focus on his father's words, but the inner stirring grew stronger.

"Finrod, dear, we are so glad you have returned," his father, King Arafinwë, began. "But we need to discuss something important... How do you feel after everything that happened?"

"Oh, I feel... um... wonderful, father. Everything is fine," Finrod lied, hoping he could hold out until the end of the meeting.

"You look tense, son," Arafinwë noted, his voice full of care and understanding. "Is something bothering you?"

At that moment, Finrod couldn't hold back any longer. He felt fur starting to break through his clothes, and his legs began to turn into paws.

"Um, father, mother, I think you need to see this," he said, feeling his face begin to elongate into a snout.

Eärwen and Arafinwë watched with concern. In an instant, where their son had stood, there was now a majestic wolf with golden fur and deep, intelligent eyes that still held Finrod's human consciousness. He lowered his head, trying not to meet his parents' eyes but felt their genuine surprise and concern.

"Finrod..." Eärwen said, stepping closer and cautiously extending her hand. She didn't know how to react, but the love and care in her heart urged her to try to comfort her son, no matter what form he took. "We will figure this out together, don't be afraid."

Arafinwë, though shaken, remained composed. "We will find a way to help you, son," he said firmly. "We will speak with the wisest in Valinor and learn how you can control this power."

Finrod nodded, the tension within him easing, and he whimpered softly, nudging his father's leg with his snout. Arafinwë, though astonished, gently placed his hand on the wolf's head, trying to soothe him.

"Everything will be alright, Finrod," he said softly, feeling his son tremble.

Eärwen came closer, kneeling beside Finrod and gently stroking his back. "We are with you, son," she said, her voice full of love and support. "You are not alone, hear me? You are not alone."

Finrod felt the warmth and care emanating from his parents, which helped him calm down a bit. Deep inside, he knew that with their help, he could overcome any difficulty.

Finrod focused, envisioning his elven face. Images flashed in his mind: clear eyes, high cheekbones, golden hair falling in waves. He remembered his travels in Beleriand, his friends, and his mission. Now that his parents knew his secret, transforming from a wolf back into an elf became easier. Gradually, the fur began to recede, and his paws turned back into slender legs. His snout returned to human features, and his long claws became fingers once more. Finrod's heavy breathing evened out, and within moments, he stood before Eärwen and Arafinwë again, glowing with the light of Valinor.

He lifted his head and looked his parents in the eyes.

"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet but full of gratitude. "I was afraid I might frighten you."

Eärwen smiled, gently hugging her son. Arafinwë nodded, his face expressing pride and determination.

"Now we need to think about how to help you control this power."

The three of them stood in the magnificent hall, surrounded by shining tapestries and splendid decorations, knowing that a challenging path lay ahead.

"Is this a new fashion in Middle-earth?" Eärwen asked after a while.

"No, mother," Finrod muttered, struggling to understand how it had come to this. "It's Sauron. Well, his magic. After I died, I... was resurrected with this ability."

"I see," Arafinwë sighed. "Well, son, you've always been unique, but this is certainly a new addition to our family traditions. Although, perhaps, you should stay away from the trees when you're in this form," Arafinwë joked. "Our gardeners won't be pleased to find giant paw prints on the flowerbeds."

Finrod chuckled.

"I promise to be careful."

Eärwen looked at her son, smiling. "You know, maybe you could use your abilities to scare off thieves? Put up a sign: 'Beware of the vicious wolf!'"

Finrod laughed, picturing such a scene. "Yes, that would definitely solve the garden theft problem!"

Arafinwë, maintaining a light-hearted tone, added, "And if we train you to bark at uninvited guests, our palace will become the safest place in Aman."

Finrod nodded, laughing, "Alright, I'll be your personal guard. But, I hope you will find a way to help me control these transformations. Otherwise, I'll need to keep a constant supply of bones."

Eärwen laughed and hugged Finrod tightly. "We are with you, son. No matter what happens, we will always support you."

Finrod nodded, feeling the tension gradually ease. The three of them stood, enjoying the moment of closeness and support. However, it was clear that serious discussions and difficult decisions awaited them.

[theelvenhaven]

Dating Maedhros

Having PTSD

A/N: This won't pertain to a specific trauma and shouldn't have any triggers in it. I have portrayed PTSD from my personal experience of having it, and I know it will not resemble everyone's experience. So please be mindful of that, and since I didn't choose a specific trauma it will be on the vaguer side of things. The setting is in Valinor post Beleriand and Oath.

* * *

❂ When it comes to dealing with trauma, there is no one more understanding than Maedhros about the whole ordeal and what comes with living with PTSD.

❂ While Maedhros' own previous experience with PTSD may look different than your current experience, it doesn't mean that he's going to be unempathetic or have the inability to understand what you are going through.

❂ He is incredibly supportive when you come out with your diagnosis to him, and is essentially asks you how can he best support you.

❂ If you are unsure about how you can best be supported, Maedhros tells you that he will help you find ways through it.

❂ The first thing that he starts with is making sure that you are seeing Healers, since you are in Valinor you have the best care imaginable.

❂ He knows what it is like to be without the help and having to muddle through survival skills to be able to make it through the day, he doesn't want you to deal with the same thing.

❂ Maedhros is happy to attend those long therapy sessions with you as he wants to know what are the healthiest ways to help you through things like flashbacks and disassociation.

❂ When you disassociate, Maedhros can tell by the far off look in your eyes and how distracted you seem to be and takes the time to help reground you.

❂ Going through the five sense grounding technique with you, he walks you through it gently and is very supportive in these moments as he tries to help you get back to yourself.

❂ He knows he can only do so much, but very much still supports and walks you through how to ground yourself.

❂ Maedhros encourages you to talk about how you're feeling with him, and will take the time to relate with you about the things he went through.

❂ It is probably no secret in Valinor post Beleriand that Maedhros went through some horrible scarring things, things that gave him PTSD at the time.

❂ He just wants you to know that even though he has healed from it, that you aren't alone in this struggle.

❂ When it comes to dealing with panic attacks that come with your PTSD, Maedhros is always coaching you through them.

❂ He helps you with numerous different measures until he find one that works for you and being able to regulate yourself again.

❂ Some of those methods may include him walking you through the 4-7-8 breathing technique- inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 7 seconds, exhale for 8 seconds until you feel like you can breathe easy and not as panicked.

❂ If that doesn't work then he will try things like pressure- that may come in the form of a firm hug or a weighted vest/blanket.

❂ Things like a quiet place to sit and a way to talk through what you're feeling in a calm manner is a given and Maedhros won't hesitate to employ that tactic as soon as he can feel you panicking.

❂ When it comes to dealing with your flashbacks, Maedhros is quick to stop whatever it is he is doing that may have triggered it.

❂ No matter what it is, he finds you a safe place to sit and talk to you through it in hopes that it will help you come out of it.

❂ One big thing that Maedhros is adamant that you are honest with him about is your triggers so he knows what to avoid.

❂ Whether its a topic, or a word, a certain smell or place, Maedhros wants to know so you two can avoid it at all costs to prevent triggering you into a spiral.

❂ While he may know how to help you through a lot of the things when it comes to dealing and living with PTSD he encourages that you work with your healers.

❂ He won't really accept no as an answer since it is available to you, and on your lowest days when you feel the worst, Maedhros sees to a Healer coming to you when you can't go to them.

❂ Regardless you will have a very mental health savvy partner who is more than willing to help you learn to cope with the trauma you've experienced.

* * *

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @celebrimbor-telperinquar @red-riding @miriel-estelwen @ta-ka-shi-ma @nerdysimpy @thegirlwithoutaname87 @anunexpectedsideblog @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @eternalabysss @noldorinpainter

[z-h-i-e]

FIC: Prototype

Silmarillion Characters: Finrod, Finarfin, Earwen Summary: Newly reimbodied and the first deceased Elf to make it out of the Halls of Waiting, Finrod copes with being reborn. Notes: I don't know if this is all of it or not, so here, have a possible finished possibly not fanfic I'm too tired to fully tag but wanted to have today as its birfday.

“Can I get you anything else? Another piece of cake?”

“Goodness, no, mother, I am more than stuffed. Anyhow, I would hate to get crumbs in the bed.” Finrod lifted his arms and received another tight embrace.  Number twenty-seven that evening. 

“Glass of water?  I could sing you a song.”

Finrod clung to Earwen and memorized everything about her with his eyes closed.  There was the scented oil in her hair that misted over him, the feel of her arms, strong from hundreds of years of sailing, holding him firmly, so well that had he gone limp she would still have kept him elevated just slightly from the bed.  The links of the metal hoops that dangled from her ears created bell-like noises, reminiscent of the tall cathedral in Valmar. He felt himself match the pace of her breathing, hearts beating close.  As the muscles in his back began to complain, Finrod pulled back and settled down again. 

The pillow was at an odd angle, but it had been four times since being brought to bed that he had tried to arrange them in a less troubling manner, and he did not want his mother to think that she had to tend to him further, so he left them alone and tried to concentration on something else. 

Something else was his arm, and he started to pick at the raised skin. 

“Do they itch?  Or hurt?  I have a cream for either,” spoke up Earwen. 

Finrod curled his fingers away from the scar and tried to smile.  “No.  I just get nervous.  I feel like I need to be doing something.”  He brought his hands back under the covers and fisted them in the sheets, unseen by his mother.  

“You just rest.  Oh, here is your father.”  Earwen leaned in to kiss Finrod’s cheek; he reciprocated.  Then she stood up from where she had been sitting on the edge of the bed and Finarfin took her place. 

“I finally managed to extract myself from council at a reasonable hour,” announced Finarfin.  He stood at the bedside for a moment, taking in a son once lost, and then sat where his wife had been. 

“I will see you in the bed chamber,” said Earwen to Finarfin, blowing a kiss to Finrod before she left the room. 

Finarfin gave a nod towards her even as her back was turned, and then attended to Finrod, adjusting a side of the blanket that had migrated off his feet and checking that the water glass was within reach.  “How was supper?”

“Good. Really good.”  Finrod wanted to say that there was no need for eight courses and a bounty of desserts every night, but Finrod was also not sure yet if it was due to his recent return or just the way Valinor was for the king and his family, and so he said nothing of this.  “How was council?”

“Boring, per usual,” was all Finarfin offered.  “Did you enjoy the garden?” 

“I did.  It was a very nice gesture for you to build them,” said Finrod. 

“Feanor was my brother, too.  We actually got along quite well, compared to how he and Fingolfin were.  It was a shock when Miriel presented us with the tapestry of Feanor’s last battle.  I hope his spirit has been able to find some peace where he is now.”

Finrod only nodded.  He knew the truth of the Hall of Waiting, and how impatience was not a trait of those who were successful there. His thoughts flashed back to his own brief stay there–unlike those who were angered or sad or hurting, Finrod had accepted his fate.  He benefited from the lack of physical barriers which once prevented visits to relatives and friends living far away.  He learned how to sing without voice, how to move without muscle, how to transport himself with mere thought.  

He enjoyed the freedom of the Halls of Waiting. 

He was now in a prison, in a land where he did not know many people, for all his friends and most of his family had gone to Middle-earth before or when he had.  He was not yet strong enough or coordinated enough to seek out Amarie (though it was not lost on him that she had yet to visit him, and the announcement of his return, of the rebirth of the son of the king, had been announced far and wide, so it was not for lack of knowledge). 

To get up the stairs, he had to be carried.  His mother had done this earlier.  To move around the gardens, he was set in a cart with cushions to prop him up which was either pushed or pulled by two or three of the palace guards.  All independence he had in the Halls was lost. 

His jubilation in the Halls of Waiting had been mistaken for a healed soul.  In reality, he hurt–but he found he immensely enjoyed being disembodied. He enjoyed the encounters with Men and Elves alike whom he had known when they both walked in Middle-earth, to speak with them in thoughts in an instant of that which might have taken days to speak with voice. 

Little warning was given; he was told he was to be an important part of the song.  How could anyone say no to that, and certainly not to Namo himself. 

And then–

–he was awake.  Alive.  Gasping for air, half in the water, half out, on the shores of what was once Alqualonde’s thriving seaport.  Reimbodied in the midst of a forgotten and abandoned impromptu graveyard.  Naked and afraid once again. 

He tried to stand and immediately fell.for  He tried again with the same result.  

The tide approached, and he crawled, trembling and sobbing, until he reached the dry sand.  The sensation of thousands of tiny particles all touching him at once had him paralyzed, and he curled in on himself and wept, eyes shut tight, gnats landing on him and biting, and he too shocked and devoid of energy to swat them away.  

If it was hours or moments or even days he would never know, for at some point, he was lifted and carried and flown elsewhere.  Only later would he learn it was Eonwe who had encountered him, and taken him to his parents for a reunion. 

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

Finrod was suddenly aware that he had missed at least two minutes of conversation with his father, that he had likely been told about the council meeting or perhaps the procurement of the site which now housed the Prince Feanor Memorial Garden. Finrod took a deep breath and shook his head.  Finarfin smiled, leaned in, and kissed Finrod on the brow.  Then, as he began to stand, he reached out for the knob on the lamp.  Just as his fingers were about to connect, Finrod shouted out, “No!”  Finarfin withdrew, and Finrod took another steadying breath.  “Please.  Leave the light on for me.  Mother has done it for–since–when I came back.  I just–I need it.  I need the light.”

Finarfin was already stroking his trembling son’s forehead while nodding, yet allowed Finrod to finish.  “Of course,” he said.  He kissed Finrod’s brow again.  “Sleep well, son.”

Finrod looked to the light of the oil lamp once he was alone in the room.  Though it stung his weary eyes to look upon it, even worse was the resulting darkness without.  No one who had lived but once could understand, he reasoned, how it should be that it was so important to have the light. 

[starspray]

Sunwarmed

My @whiteoliphaunt fic, for @gwaedhannen--I hope you like it!

Rating: G Characters: Finrod/Amarie Summary:

The more he thought about it the more he realized he was not quite missing the Tirion of his childhood, but Nargothrond at its height. His own city, that he’d planned and helped to build with his own two hands, where his friends among the dwarves had visited so often, and where he had earned his favorite epessë. No one in Valinor called him Felagund.

Also on AO3

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It was very quiet in Tirion. The War of Wrath was ended and the armies returned, alongside many others, but still: most who had departed Tirion when darkness fell had not returned. Many now slept in Mandos; many more had refused the Valar ’s call and remained in Middle-earth with its wide open lands now filled with opportunity and possibility and and safety.

Finrod would have been lying if he said he did not envy them.

He sat atop the roof of the palace, looking out over the city. It was a spot he and his cousins had often retreated to when they were young—and even when they were grown, and the tension below grew too much. These tiles, or perhaps their predecessors, had borne witness to many afternoons of long and winding conversation, of tears and of laughter, hopes and dreams and teasing. Now there was no one to talk to; his cousins and brothers were all dead, and his sister had refused to come home. Finrod was not surprised, and he hoped that Galadriel found everything she wanted and more in Middle-earth—but he still missed her. It was lonely, being the only one left in Tirion.

Finrod sighed, and stretched out his legs, leaning back against the sun warmed stones of the wall. He missed too the bustle and noise of a full and thriving city—though the more he thought about it the more he realized he was not quite missing the Tirion of his childhood, but Nargothrond at its height. His own city, that he ’d planned and helped to build with his own two hands, where his friends among the dwarves had visited so often, and where he had earned his favorite epessë. No one in Valinor called him Felagund.

As he contemplated the horizon, both familiar and strange, the soft rustle of skirts heralded an unexpected companion. He turned and found, to his surprise, Amari ë emerging from the window—or trying to. The current fashions in Tirion ran to rather wide skirts, and she was having a bit of difficulty getting her layers of petticoats through the opening. “Thank you!” she said when he held out his hands to help her. “I thought I might find you up here.”

“Who else knows of this spot?” Finrod asked, amused. “I rather thought it was a secret between all my cousins.”

“Artanis told me about it once,” Amarië said breezily. “Very long ago, before all the troubles began.” She smoothed her deep green skirts as she settled on the tiles beside him, as though she had brought a small grassy hill up to the roof with her to serve as a cushion.

“She prefers Galadriel, these days,” Finrod said. “That is the name her husband gave her.”

Amari ë smiled, but there was a strange, almost wistful look in her eyes. “It is hard to imagine her married,” she said. “I never thought there was anyone in the world who could keep up with her.”

“Celeborn certainly can.”

They sat for a while in silence, looking out over the rolling green hills to the south, and the road snaking through the Calacirya in the east toward Alqualond ë and the glittering blue Sea. “What name do you prefer, these days?” Amarië asked suddenly. Finrod looked at her in surprise. “So many Exiles are returning with new names, but I cannot remember being told yours.”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “Finrod is the name I gave myself,” he said finally, “when we were rendering all our names into Sindarin. I had others, over the years…” Nóm was in many ways dearest to his heart, but it had no place in Aman. “Felagund, I was called. From Felakgundu, in the Dwarvish tongue. I had many friends among the Dwarves—they helped to delve and build my city Nargothrond. ”

“I have heard that name,” said Amarië, troubled. “In the songs they sing on Tol Eressëa. King Felagund who battled the Enemy’s lieutenant beneath his haunted tower.”

“Not his tower, but mine, stolen and overrun after the Bragollach,” said Finrod. “And, after, it was my tomb.” He smiled at Amarië, though she looked both shocked and horrified. “It’s all right! I won’t faint away to think or talk about my own death. And anyway, Sauron got his due. Lúthien came and sang the tower town to rubble. Better to have it so than for it to be of any use to the Enemy.”

“And now it is drowned, with all the rest of that land,” said Amarië softly.

Finrod sighed, letting his smile fade away. “Yes. With Nargothrond and Gondolin and Menegroth the magnificent…but there is much still of Middle-earth left, and new kingdoms are rising even as we speak.”

“Yes, and your sister will finally find herself a queen of some glorious realm,” Amarië said.

“Perhaps,” said Finrod.

“And what will you do, now that you are here again?” Amarië asked.

“I don’t know. I have been a king and a hero, and I don’t think I would like to be either one again.”

Silence fell between them again. Then Amari ë reached over and took Finrod’s hand in her own. The sunshine glinted on her golden hair and the golden beads woven into her braids, making her sparkle. “You have never been a husband,” she said, “though once I know you wished it.”

Finrod turned his hand to lace their fingers together. “Would you still have me, Amarië, after all this time?” he asked.

Her smile was lovelier in his eyes than all the jewels of Nargothrond and more wondrous than the greatest wonders of Middle-earth. “I would.”

[nocompromise-noregrets]

hi so I just reread our trsb collaboration from last year and aaaaaaaaaaa it's so so good and I'm crying again even though I've read it at least five times before

I always find that there's something deeply lonely about the end of a story when all the familiar characters are dead or gone and the world is left to the next generation, but at the same time this one is still so full of joy and even though it's about the end and only vaguely describes the 100+ years in between it and the end of RotK, Arwen's life feels so rich and full of friendship and love and words cannot describe how much it makes me feel things.

And then there's all the beautiful little character details!!! Arwen wishing she could've shared her life with her mother???? The uncertainty of the twins' choice but also the "maybe there's always supposed to be one of each" and also the idea that they might stay and be the guardians of Middle Earth because it'll always be their home in a way that Valinor just isn't???? Gimli pledging to give Arwen's love to Galadriel????? EVERYTHING about the garden in Minas Tirith???? DID I MENTION THE TWINS??????? Augh. It's just. so perfect.

And of course. Hearing the wedding vows. The pledge. The bouquet. "what use would her mortal shell have for empty proximity, when their spirits are forever intertwined?" I have no words. I cannot possibly describe the emotions this is evoking in me.

Ok I will shut up now but ONE MORE THING. The second to last paragraph? Makes me sob. So much. It's so unbelievably beautiful and well expressed and I love it deeply with my entire being.

aaaaaaaaa! thank you SO MUCH, my lovely! I so enjoyed working with you on that one and I'm just thrilled that you like it so much <333333333 it was one of those that just kind of wrote itself, once it got going, and it went off in all manner of directions I wasn't quite expecting (Gimli was a particular surprise XD although I have to confess the twins were deliberate, as they always are with me :D ) I've been sort of circling Arwen and Celebrían and the twins for a long time (including all three TRSBs I've done, in one way or another) and I feel like I'm getting closer to them, although still not quite close enough to write the twins-make-their-choice fic I've been trying to do for ages. (nearly ready to write a reunion in Valinor, because that absolutely is the endgame, but the actual thinking and considering and dithering and finally coming to a decision is still eluding me)...anyway, I'm so delighted it's stuck with you and thank you so very much for letting me know, you've pretty much made my year. <333333333

(and if anyone else wants to read 5k of Arwen at Cerin Amroth contemplating her life, right at the end of it, and see some utterly beautiful art, it's here: I Will Be With You Always)

Her own reunion draws ever closer, in the place where the spirits of Men go, the place unknown to the Elves; at long last she will leave behind half of her heritage for ever. It has always been with her, even after she made her choice, it has stayed with her to the end of her days, but now it will leave her at last, or she will leave it. It is time for her to make that last sundering, to join her uncle and all of the cousins she never knew and turn her back on her closest family for ever. She has thought about this moment, contemplated it, turned it over in her mind, many times over the years, and since Aragorn has been gone, it has occupied her thoughts more and more. She has always thought that she would know when the time came, and now she is certain that it is drawing ever closer. She can almost hear his voice, that dear, dear sound, dearer to her than any other, singing the Lay of Lúthien just as he had on that evening so long ago when first they met, calling her home to him at last. He has been her hope for so long, the hope of Middle-Earth for longer - the twins called him ‘Estel’ all his life, although everyone else, once he was grown, used his proper name or called him ‘Strider’, and once he was King those who did not know him called him ‘Elessar’; but the twins, of course, always did things their way, and though he was the high hope of all free peoples, for the twins, Arwen thinks, he was their own hope, though they dressed it up in teasing banter. They could not defeat the Enemy on their own, she knows they knew this, and she thinks they knew, also, that if anyone could, it would be Aragorn - Estel, named by his mother because she knew it too.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Castle on the Hill

Thank you to the anon who sent in this request for Mae x fem!reader angst.

As it was an anon prompt, I do not know the person who requested this and/or how familiar they are with my writing.

So, I have taken anon by their word. The only thing I am not sure about is whether this will count as "x"...

Words: 1473

Characters: Maedhros x Female Elf reader

Prompt: Grassy Hillsides

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, the Doom of the Ñoldor

As you made your way into the fortress, shamefully bedraggled and unspeakably weary, you were terrified of what you'd find.

The grassy hillside you had clambered up reminded you of home and of better times you were hopeful to regain—despite the bold claim that it was summer here, you felt a sickly chill seep through your travelling garb and settle beneath your skin.

Never would you have been able to predict how heavy and miserable you'd feel in this strange land when you had set out—with high hopes and a joyous heart—to bring back the one you felt tethered to still despite his long absence from the shores of your home.

Before the so-called Flight of the Ñoldor, your family had led you to believe that a match with Nelyafinwë, firstborn of the firstborn, would be both possible and desirable.

From the moment you had first laid eyes upon him, you had never demurred again.

He had been named quite aptly for his blinding beauty, but it was his dignified demeanour and eloquent speech that had won your maiden heart.

You shivered violently as you were ushered into a draughty hall, awaiting the pleasure of the Lord of the castle. Through a narrow, charmless window, you could see the grey grass swaying sluggishly in the damp breeze—you turned away, overwhelmed with home-sickness and a devastating sensation of loneliness.

Would he even remember you?

You had been but another maiden at court, staring longingly at the gorgeous and exceedingly desirable descendants of Finwë behind coyly lowered lashes.

Steeling yourself against this onslaught of disastrous doubt, you tried to improve your appearance as much as possible without a looking glass or the proper tools.

It would not do to appear before this paragon of strength and nobility in so unapologetically dishevelled a fashion.

"Milady," a heavy, raucous voice said, and you whirled around to face a door you had not hitherto noticed. "How can I be of assistance?"

Pressing your lips together, you took in the apparition of doleful distinction approaching you with measured steps.

Nelyafinwë looked both much the same and completely different—the noble reticence you had once so admired had hardened into stern dispassion and his delicate features seemed sharper and more cutting in the flickering light of the sconces.

Evidently, he did not remember you—his smile was perfunctory at best and your courage flagged.

As you were frantically flipping through the catalogue of empty, pretty phrases one was supposed to use when in the presence of an Elda of his standing, your gaze brushed against his right wrist as against an open wound.

You flinched involuntarily—your host gave you an almost mocking smile.

Finally, he met your wide, shocked gaze and, by the way he retreated a wavering step, you could tell that he realised instantly whence you had come.

"I have come to take you home," you blurted out, understanding with sudden clarity that this world was nothing like the one you had grown up in.

This was not the time nor the place for polite conversation and pleasant platitudes—not when the unobtainable dream of your radiant youth stood there, swaddled in heavy furs, and stared at you in reluctant wonder.

"Home?" he barked; it sounded as if he had not laughed in a very long time. "And where would that be, pray tell?"

"To Valinor," you replied in a faltering voice.

This was not what you had imagined when you had planned your victorious quest to redeem the Dispossessed. In your visualisation of the scene, he had always been relieved and eager to follow you back to the Blessed Realm where peace and plenty were awaiting him after a period of humble atonement.

"What for?" he hissed and scanned the room quickly before localising the carafe of deep red wine standing on a bare, scratched-up counter.

Without heeding your attempts at redressing your impassionate, imprudent exclamation, he moved over and poured the liquid into two finely wrought crystal goblets.

"My Lord," you cried, "you are not beyond saving. If only you would come with me...there could be forgiveness and healing."

His piercingly cold eyes swung around to settle heavily upon your blanching face. A flicker of acknowledgement of your ever-youthful beauty passed through his gaze but it died as soon as it had flared up and was promptly replaced by the unyielding wall of patient distance.

"A wife," you added softly—renewed, unquenchable hope flared within your soul and voice once more as you extended your hand to him.

Handing you one of the goblets unceremoniously, Nelyafinwë cocked his head as if earnestly fascinated but not in the least otherwise affected by your words.

"A wife," he chuckled. "What would I do with a spouse of any denomination?"

He rubbed his brow with the same long, slender fingers you had watched write important notes in the margins of official texts an eternity ago.

They were now pale and bony, marred with scars and covered in callouses, but they were still the most beautiful digits you had ever beheld.

"Love her? Be happy?" you whispered, hating yourself for sounding so unsure of a scheme that had driven you across the sea and through countless perils.

"A wife, happy, love," he aped you, his own voice booming and bouncing off the unadorned walls of the chamber—an unbearable echo of his disbelief and derision.

"I have sworn an oath," he then added in a softer tone, "and it takes precedence over any other vow I might have made. I am bound to it and to those who share my ball and chain. There is nothing else. There is nobody else. There never will be."

The fire of resentment and resignation burning in his eyes did nothing to dispel the trembling that had drained your limbs of all strength.

"You've done enough," you protested vehemently, "you have lost so much already. Come back with me and be made whole."

He bristled at that, retreating even further from you as if he was positively disgusted by the tableau of pardon and peace you were conjuring up.

"I am what I am," he said coldly, "and there is nought you or anyone else could change about that. Go home, this is no place for...the innocent."

Though he did not speak the devastating verdict, you could hear it reverberating in his tone. There was no place in his castle, in his life, or in his heart for naïve maidens such as you.

Your hands started to shake so much that you had to hide them within your sleeves—you had prepared and rehearsed every single sentence you had wanted to say to him but, in the face of his unrelenting refusal to even listen to you, you were constantly finding yourself at fault and at a loss for words.

"Please," you begged brazenly, "this is folly. You'll die."

Another burst of mirthless laughter cut your pleading short.

"My grandfather is dead," he answered calmly, "so is my father. Ever since leaving Formenos, every step I've taken was steeped in destruction and death—I know what awaits me and I am unafraid."

Letting the goblet fall to the floor, wine spilling across the flagstones like the blood he had referenced a moment prior, you extended both your hands in a shameless display of supplication.

"Go home," he scoffed, "there is nought you can offer that I'd desire. I have chosen my lot and I have all I'll ever need in this accursed land we've paid so dearly to have and to hold."

The travesty of notions and phrases usually found in wedding vows cut you to the core and, finally, your desperate, violent burst of selfless petition abated.

"I wish you'd reconsider," you sighed.

"I wish you safe travels," he replied in the even, polite voice you remembered from his speeches at court. "May you find all the bliss you've tried to hawk so fervently."

Draining his cup and giving you a crisp, perfunctory bow, he strode out of the same door he had entered through.

A moment later, an armoured soldier appeared by your elbow to escort you either to your horse or to a room in case you wanted to rest before your departure.

"Will I see him again?" you asked dejectedly.

"No," the soldier informed you, his terrible, insulting empathy hurting you more than Nelyafinwë's polite dismissal, "he has left to confer with his kin."

"Then I shall take my leave as well," you said, mustering up every ounce of self-respect and dignity left within your shaken soul.

As you exited the keep, bitterness crept into your veins along with the pervasive cold that made your bones ache.

He did not remember you and he had not even deemed you worthy of an apology…or a goodbye.

Thank you anon for the request and I hope this was acceptable.

Writing this, I have found that I am unable to write a lovestory between Maedhros and a female character that would be anywhere near functional or successful. I am sorry.

Lots of love!

@fellowshipofthefics: On track for week 3 as well :D

[that-choir-girl]

Love your writings🤍 Would love a Frodo imagine where he has always loved Y/N. Y/N has had hardships too (not on Frodo’s level, but def still some trauma). He comes back to the Shire from healing & expresses his love for Y/N, Y/N do too. Then a proposal/wedding/wedding night (if seggsy details are permitted)?🥹

Hi :)! Thank you for requesting & thank you for being the first one to request! I hope that you like this imagine. if not, i can totally redo it if you want me to :)! PS: i'll try and add a little bit of segc moments but i won't overdo it. Lemme know if you want that to change!

Title: For All Eternity

It's been nearly eight years since Frodo left for the Undying Lands with Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Gandalf. He'd promised that he would come back, but I didn't know when. I'd spent countless days looking through the windows of Bag End (which he gave to me before he left) waiting for him to return. I spent countless nights crying because I knew that it would be years before he returned. His side of the bed that he used to sleep in when we were still dating, felt cold and empty.

I missed him desperately. It wasn't obvious. Even Sam had done everything he could to distract me from the man I loved. Merry and Pippin had done their best.

I sighed, staring up at the ceiling of the bedroom that Frodo and I once shared. I did not want to get out of bed. My thoughts kept straying towards Frodo and all the difficulties we'd gone through together. But obviously, his hurts were deeper than mine. I only had to witness what my beloved Hobbit was going through. I didn't go through what he went through. And I could tell that he was going through hell during our long, dangerous trek to Mordor.

The sound of someone knocking on the door brought me to my senses. At first, I ignored it, thinking that it was Sam coming to try and get me to be motivated during the day. Or maybe it was Merry and Pippin. They were always trying to find some way to drag me out of bed and do outdoorsy things with them. Of course I had to go with them, though reluctantly. I'd rather stay in bed all day and do nothing.

But when the knock sounded again, I groaned, grumbling to myself. I rolled out of bed and slumped towards the door. I reluctantly opened it. The first thing I saw first, obviously, was a pair of large, hairy feet. My eyes travelled to the rest of his body and finally, his face.

My eyes went wide when I saw that it was my beloved Hobbit standing in front of me. I shrieked with joy before jumping into his arms for a hug, sobbing with relief. Frodo responded and wrapped his arms safely and securely around my waist. He buried his face into the crook of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

I missed this feeling. I missed the feeling of him being close to me. I missed hugging him whenever I got the chance.

"God, you have no idea how much I've missed you!" I breathed though excitedly, as I broke from the hug. "I thought that you'd never come back!"

"I'll always come back for you, y/n," Frodo reassured.

I examined his face. The color of his eyes were still the same. But this time, they were no longer filled with pain, sorrow, or regret. They only glowed with love. He looked healthier than he had been in years. He smiled for the first time since he left for the Valinor. Still holding his hands in mine, he got to his knees, and spoke.

"Y/n? Ever since before my adventure, and during my adventure, I'd always loved you. Even though you weren't officially there, you were the reason why I kept going. I always have. And I musk ask: Will you marry me?"

As he was speaking he pulled out something from his back pocket. And I realized that it was a ring.

"YES!" I squealed excitedly. I threw my arms around his neck and jumped into his arms, almost knocking him backwards. I cried happy tears. Once I'd calmed down a little bit, he took the ring from its place and gently slid it onto my finger.

He scooped me in his arms, kissing me fiercely. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. The kiss was full of need, passion, and love. We began to plan the wedding right away.

Several months after Frodo had proposed to me, it was finally the day of our wedding. We'd invited nearly everyone in the Shire (except for the Sackville-Bagginses, who'd always wanted Bag End). Even some members of the Fellowship came to celebrate with us! Unfortunately, Aragorn or Arwen couldn't make it, as they were expecting their third child any time soon, and Aragorn was incredibly busy ruling Gondor and the rest of Middle-Earth.

That day was lovely. Frodo and I said our vows to each other, promising that we would take care of each other during our difficult days. I looked him firmly in the eyes as I said my vows to him. I was scared on the inside, but I knew that my vows were what I wanted to say.

"You may kiss the bride!" the Minister said.

Our lips touched and the entire crowd cheered.

That night, we settled into Bag End. We'd finally be sharing that home together. Once we set foot on the threshold of Bag End, Frodo immediately scooped me up in his arms, carrying me bridal-style to the bedroom we'd share together for the rest of our lives.

Once we got changed into some different clothing, I immediately grabbed Frodo by the neck, and shoved him gently down onto the bed roughly, causing him to chuckle. I began to kiss him. His lips were soft and pillowy, and tasted slightly of the ale that we had drunk during the feast. The kiss felt cautious and tentative. But gradually, it began to get rough and full of need, and he flipped the both of us over so that he was on top, and I was on the bottom.

His hands slipped underneath the hem of my shirt. His cold hands felt nice against my skin. I gasped lightly and arched my back a little bit. I then began to fumble at the buttons of his shirt with shaking hands, exposing his bare chest. My eyes examined the scars that were left on his body since the quest.

Frodo noticed my stares, and immediately became insecure. He tried to hide his scars by wrapping his shirt around himself, but I only stopped him, pulling his hands away.

"Don't," I whispered, forcing his hands away from his shirt. "You don't have to be embarrassed about your scars, love. It means that you've survived. It means that you're strong."

Frodo blushed at my comment, and bent down, as to kiss me. He kissed me ferociously, causing me to moan slightly. I made sure to kiss each of his scars, letting him know that I was there for him, and that his hard days were over.

Frodo gave me a look of adoration. Tears of relief came to his eyes and he bent down to kiss me again. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

I reached over to grab the candle snuffer. Frodo began to pull the covers over us. I snuffed out the candles and Frodo pulled the covers completely over our heads.

***So sorry if the ending was crappy! Lemme know if you want me to redo it!***

***Update: I hope that this is a bit more of what you hoped for, anonymous! Thanks again for requesting!***

[runawaymun]

Oh no oh wait your thoughts on Eärendil are similar to mine. Can I dare to ask your thoughts on Elwing too? I’m personally Not A Fan but understand her more favorable interpretations

When looking at Elwing I think it's important to understand just how young she was. I'm not an Elwing stan, nor am I an Elwing hater. She was a single mother and a child queen, with an immense amount of trauma and responsibility and a Silmaril hanging around her neck. I think she did her best and it wasn't enough. I think there was a level of emotional (and perhaps physical) neglect in her raising of E&E but that's not because she is a bad person, that's because she is ill-equipped to parent, overburdened with ruling a city, stressed to the absolute max, and poorly handling her own trauma. Just from a real-life standpoint I think it stands to reason that there would have been emotional neglect at the very least.

We don't really have evidence one way or another as to what kind of mother she is, but I don't think she abandoned Elrond and Elros in favor of the Silmaril. That's not a take that I think makes a lick of sense. Elwing was witness to her entire family being massacered over the Silmaril, and the Oath goes: "whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth" -- even if Elwing gave the Silmaril back, technically the Oath would still call for her death. And after what happened to Elured and Elurin she also has no reason to believe that the Feanorians would spare the lives of little kids. What she does know is that they are focused on one thing, and basically one thing only: the Silmaril.

I read her leaving E&E in a hiding spot and jumping into the ocean as her last ditch effort to protect them. Like, yelling screaming jumping up and down waving the Silmaril "OVER HERE HI ARE YOU LOOKING FOR THIS!!!!! COME AND GET IT" and that's incredibly brave of her! I don't read it as "this is my birthright and I'm hanging on to it and fuck everyone else", I read it as grabbing the one thing the Feanorians are looking for and getting as far away from Elrond and Elros as she possibly could, in the hopes that they would survive.

And also idk I think there was maybe the smallest hope that Maedhros and Maglor were so far gone in the Oath that they'd jump in the ocean and drown with her.

All that to say I don't think Elrond really registered that this was her reasoning for leaving him and Elros behind until much much later, possibly not until he meets her in Valinor and she has a chance to explain it to him on an adult level. Our feelings about our parents are complicated and we often look at them through the lens of how we felt when we were little, and I'm sure how Elrond felt in that moment was "why am I getting abandoned in the midst of the worst night of my life?! I'm TERRIFIED and I want my MOM" because he was six -- and I think that stuck with him until it was later challenged. Trauma is Trauma.

[laughingmaiden-a]

tag drop !!

[eunoiaastralwings]

Hello! You are SO TALENTED! Absolutely amazing! Can I please request a Maedhros x female reader, please? Mae is super protective and reader really doesn’t mind. But one day she’s had to run a letter to her boss forgets to bring the guards Mae makes her take everywhere and she gets lost in heavy rain. Mae gets super worried and goes out searching for the reader, he finds her but she’s wet and cold. And it’s all protective Mae taking her home, warming her by cuddles and whispering how he loves her

Under the Raindrops

characters maedhros x female reader

fandom tolkien- the silmarillion

a/n oh hun— thank you! am very happy you're enjoying it here! sorry for the wait - am still recovering from whatever this is. gif banner as usual from my talented mellon @sorisooyaa- i needed something simple— she made it perfect! &lt;;/3

You sighed— Maedhros was giving another lecture to your group of personal guards.

As annoying as it was for some— you had understood were his concerns laid and did not add to his plate by arguing.

Courting a Nolder elf— a Feanorian at that, put your life at danger more than you could ever know.

Back in Valinor, a time you were ready to get married— your Maitimo was more carefree— he wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder to check if you were still there.

His protectiveness over you had doubled since departing from his mother, losing one of his youngest brothers and his father— you had never seen your beloved tall redhead elf so broken.

After that— he was trying with everything in his power, to keep the rest of his family safe— which included you.

You didn't say a word as he wandered to his office— he gave a small nod over his shoulder, that's all.

You dearly missed your times in Valinor— moments where you could sit on the clean grass and watch the setting sun.

Or late nights beside the fire— Maedhros holding you close to his chest.

At times you felt like crying— the distance between yourself and him that was set after taking the oath was growing bigger and bigger.

As much as you hated to admit— you felt like a little doll for him— to sit still and look pretty.

But despite all those thoughts— you still knew how much your elf loved you— he wouldn't be constantly worrying about your safety if that wasn't the case.

You sat in your room as the evening dragged on into the night— you couldn't help but think you were certainly forgetting something. . .

It was your day off from work— but there was something picking at your mind— an unscratchable itch.

It didn't stop until you saw a pristine white envelope on your desk— your eyes widened and you gasped.

OH SHIT!

The letter you were supposed to deliver to your boss today.

You should have listened to Maedhros and delivered it yesterday— but you, being the master of procrastination left it off until today— on your day off.

Of course, you would forget it— you felt so stupid.

You instantly grabbed the letter and raced out the door— forgetting your guards or to inform Maedhros.

The dark clouds from the evening were now splattering rain— you hoped it wouldn't pour until you got back.

But the moment you reached your boss's home the rain poured down— drenching you top to bottom.

Thankfully— the letter was still kept safe and given to your boss without being wet.

He had offered you a ride back— worried you would get lost in the heavy rain.

But you politely declined— and was already running out before he could ask again.

But moments later you couldn't find the road— the rain was so heavy; it blocked your vision —and you couldn't see past your own nose.

You shivered and hugged yourself— yes, you had forgotten your cloak too.

When you tried to turn back— in the direction of your boss' house to take that offer— you couldn't find your way back either.

You blinked so many times— you lost count.

You felt like crying— lost and alone. . .

Had Maedhros even realized you were gone. . .?

“What do you mean by she's in not in her room?”

Maedhros almost shouted at the guards— the 8ft Nolder elf had their knees shaking in fear.

“We do not know— she didn't notify us of her leave.”

Maedhros frowned— it was rather unlike you to do that.

He groaned— then ran his hand through his bright red hair— he wished you were here to run your fingers through and pull out the knots— braid them if you wanted too.

Maedhros wasn't able to get a moment a peace— now his senses were hypersensitive.

He walked back and forth the length of your room— his guards had already informed your horse was still here— peacefully sleeping in the stables, oblivious to its owner's disappearance.

So, when the eyes of the oldest of Feanor's sons landed on your empty desk— he knew exactly of you whereabouts.

“Bring me my horse!”

He commanded.

He bit back his anger— he had told you to deliver that letter yesterday.

Now that tiny mistake— it made up your fate.

So when Maedhros climbed onto the stallion readied for him with rain showering like an unstoppable storm— he desperately hoped you weren't too far out of his reach.

He led his horse down the rained and flooded roads.

You were the one thing that reminded him of Valinor— of the times with his mother—you gave him the moments of peace in this life after the oath in his blood.

Maedhros wasn't ready to lose you— he never would be. . .

You shivered and sobbed under the heavy rain— then crashed to the flooded ground too cold and tired.

It felt like a giant hailstorm— you felt sick because of how fast it was draining your energy.

You sobbed into your hands— feeling paranoid you would be lost out here and no one would ever find you— and if they did you would probably be dead by then.

It was the middle of the night in heavy rain— and your enemies could be just on horizon— you didn't know.

So, you screamed out when you heard the sound of a large horse approaching you.

“Y/N, meldanya!”

The owner of the horse spoke— and you cried out in relief.

“Russo!”

You threw your arms hastily around him— in fear thinking it was your imagination and then in relief feeling him real.

He carefully wrapped his arms around you— Maedhros held you close to his chest and he murmured about your stupidity.

“What were you thinking, melda?— Look at you! You are all wet! You're cold!”

He spoke—completely alarmed and took off his outer thick long robe and wrapped it around your tiny shaking shoulders.

You sobbed into his chest— while apologizing profusely.

He sighed and ran a hand through your hair— then lovingly kissed the top of your head.

You slowly lifted your head to look up at him —then looked into his burning blue eyes for a long time.

“I missed you so much. . .— I missed you so much!”

Maedhros knew exactly what you meant— he knew how drastically he had already changed.

He knew how much you missed the old elf he was— sometimes he did too. . .

“Áva sorya” (Don't dread).

He whispered to you— and kept gently brushing your wet hair.

Without another word— he easily lifted your small and tiny body — compared his tall and broad body— into his arms and climbed to in horse with ease.

Maedhros whispered sweet nothings on the way back— he kept you covered from the heavy rain with his body and cloak as much as possible.

When you finally reached back— he let his guards take care of the horse and immediately made his way to your room.

With respect— Maedhros stepped outside as you changed sending maids in — if you needed them.

Once you were done— you called him back in and your Maitimo rushed in.

As the maids were sent out— he quickly began a fire inside the fireplace mantle.

He tried to forget the memories the sparks and flames made him remember and quickly sat beside you on the couch.

You didn't waste time and pushed yourself into his warm embrace— feeling safe and warm.

You weren't wet, cold and alone anymore.

He rubbed his hands up and down your arms— you were still shivering and Maitimo held you close as he possibly could.

“Am here. . .— right here. . .”

He said and kissed your hair.

“Am so sorry. . .”

You whispered.

“It's alright. . . you're safe now, meldanya”

“Am sorry for worrying you— I should have listened to you-”

You sobbed and hiccupped.

“Y/N, melda, you could be here in your room— and I still would be worried about you. . .— not a moment is there when am not worried about you. . .”

“No?”

You squeaked.

He let out a chuckle— looking like the old Russo that always had a sibling or more clutched to his arms and legs, cleaning up their mess.

“Yes— I'll always worry about you— you know this. Melinyel, Y/N” (I love you).

“I love you too. . .”

He smiled— then leaned down to your lips and kissed you— softly.

“I will always love you. . .”

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tara's taglist: @mslizziesblog @wandererindreams @aeonianarchives

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

[ladysternchen]

Moving on

The grindstone passed smoothly over the knife. Again. And again. Elmo’s eyes were fixed on the blade, but he did not see it truly. A lump had built inside his throat, and however much he tried to swallow, he couldn’t.  “What are you doing?” He started, the stone slipping on the blade, and turned to his wife. “Sharpening my knife.” “I can see that. But why?” “I’m going to cut my hair.” “What? Why?” Elmo slid his thumb over the blade, careful not to cut himself.  “Elmo…” his wife laid a hand on his shoulder. “…beloved, Galadhon will learn. He’s only a tiny baby, he didn’t mean to hurt you.” “It’s not that. I know babies pull hair, that never bothered me. This has nothing to do with our son.” “Why then? What happened?” She placed her hand on his cheek, but he resisted the gentle pressure of her fingers against his jaw that tried to make him face her.  “It’s just… unhandy. And I’m just about the only elf in all Arda who can’t braid their hair.” “That’s nonsense. You’d learn, if you wanted to, as you are brilliant with any form of crafting. Or I’d braid your hair if you asked me to, as you know perfectly well. That’s not even uncommon, many couples do each other’s hair.” “No!” Elmo said tonelessly.  “But you needn’t braid it, anyway. I mean, look at Beleg. He does beautiful braids if he wants to, but only knots his hair normally, so does Mablung. Or Círdan, he just ties his. So what’s that really about?” Elmo didn’t meet her eye as he answered. “I want to move on. We have a child now, I can’t always dwell on the past.” “Oh my love…” He at last allowed her to turn his face towards her and looked into her eyes, with no way of disguising the tears in his. “This is about Elwë, isn’t it?” “He did my braids from the moment my hair was long enough to be braided. When he was in Valinor, I didn’t even let Olwë do it. By the time Elwë returned it was so snarled he sat hours trying to disentangle it.” “I remember, yes. He wouldn’t cut it. Our mother said then that that was his way of apologising.” “Yeah. It hurt terribly, but in the end we managed.” “So why cut it now? I mean, you can comb it be now, so… nah, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make fun of a thing like that.” “I miss him so much. I miss them both so much, but at least I said goodbye to Olwë. And to be honest, the longer we dwell here, the more I think Olwë was right from the start. I know Círdan still keeps the hope that Elwë’s alive, that we’ll find him someday, but I can’t. Not anymore. I’m a father now, I need to grow up. I need to stop hoping where there is no hope.” “Keeping hope has nothing to do with being a child…” “That’s not what I meant. I have to move on. I need to sleep without waking with every crack. I need to stop turning. I want to show Galadhon the beauty of the woods with my mind on my son, not secretly searching. I need this to be over, even if that means accepting that my brother is dead.” “Alright.”  Her voice, too, was barely more than a whisper now as she fought back tears, both of pity and grief. “But let me cut it.” Elmo only nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. And so she braided her husbands hair into one large plait, which she bound both at the end and at the back of his neck. He silently handed her the knife. “Hold it. So it won’t pull so much.” She watched as he reached back, gathering his plait in his fist, placing the lightest kiss on his clenched fingers, before cutting the plait between his hand and the upper tie. The knife was indeed sharp enough to pass smoothly through the strands of hair, which was lucky, as she, too, was blinded by tears. And yet, as he finally shook his head and his hair fell loose from the remains of the braid, she smiled. “It suits you.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly before placing the circlet that marked him as the prince he was upon his brow. “We’ll be alright. We have each other, and Galadhon, and Círdan’s wisdom will keep us safe.” “Yay, we will be. In time.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42140616

[goldenvoicedminstrel]

Hot take; Maglor has written every member of his immediate and extended family a song inspired by them. Every single one of them has promptly learned to play/sing that song, even if that is the only song they know (looking at you Caranthir) they know it perfectly.

This comes in handy later, because when Maglors memories start fading he keeps his family alive by singing their songs over and over. It’s also good for the family members, because when everything else about Maglors existence fades away, they have the songs to prove that he was real and that he loved them.

I had a lot of thoughts and even more emotions about this, so enjoy my rambling.

Let’s say it starts with someone, perhaps Fëanor, telling his small son the story of the Ainulindalë, how Eru composed the Great Music and the Ainur sang Arda into being, and how everything and everyone is a part of that Music.

Of course young Makalaurë, who learned to sing before he could speak, is enchanted. 

We are all a song! The next day he comes to Nerdanel and starts to hum a simple, sweet melody, that sounds a bit like a lullaby. When she asks what song it is, he only says: “Yours.”

(She begins to use it as a lullaby for him when he is afraid at night, and later for his brothers as well. It works without fail.)

And that is only the beginning. Because once he has started to hear the melody in everyone around him, he cannot stop and while the most important part is still the melody, he starts to make up words, too, and so the songs are born.

Maitimo’s gives him a lot of trouble at first. He is too young and inexperienced and he finds that his attempts to create something as graceful, kind and perfect as his older brother all fall short. It takes him years to finally put together a melody “well-formed” enough. It is indeed very beautiful and harmonic and has a majestic air to it that makes his brother blush, but Maitimo will always love best the first attempt his little brother presented him with so long ago.

It is easier for his younger brothers, children in general are louder in every way, and though he makes small changes over the years and adds parts to their songs as they grow, the melody at core remains the same.

Tyelko’s starts as a children’s rhyme, that teaches his brother to imitate the animals he loves (the elf version of old MacDonald had a farm) and evolves until it seems to be made up only of the sound of the birds and the barking of dogs and even, in a particularly dramatic moment, the bellow of a stag. 

Little Carnistir’s song starts out much quieter, but rises unexpectedly at times, and when his brother was very young, Makalaurë used to throw him into the air with the crescendos and he would shriek and giggle until he was red in the face. Later, he adds some words a plays on the numbers that Moryo so enjoys, and sometimes he can hear him absentmindedly hum the melody under his breath when brooding over another problem. (There is also a rhyme very obviously leading up to a swear word, which is then abruptly left out for comedic purposes.)

Words are important in Curvo’s song as well. It is the most complicated, fast-paced like their father’s, made up of many different parts all moulded together. There are many wordplays, because smithing is hard to portray in song, but word-smithing is much easier, and Makalaurë always knows when his brother is singing his song in his head, for an amused little smile appears in the corner of his mouth.

Each of the twins have their own song, but they are both built around the same musical theme and made to be sung as a duet. The Ambarussa immediately invent a game in which one of them hides in the woods, and the other, with his eyes closed, has to find him  only through singing his part and listening to the answering verse.

(He likes to add verses for special occasions and perform them elaborately. He did this for all his brothers when they came of age, and again for Curvo’s wedding. On the other hand he is not afraid to compose a verse of pure mockery when his brother have been getting on his nerves again. But those are only temporary of course. Though they can be very catchy.)

The last time he sings his brothers their songs, the last time any of them do so out loud in front of the others, is on the ship to Beleriand. He hopes it will raise their spirits and strengthen their resolve. 

Then their father dies violently and for the first time Makalaurë does not feel like singing, not even in grief.

(Or perhaps he stops singing them before that, when one of the Ambarussa fails to answer their brother’s song for the first time.)

Maitimo is taken and when he comes back, Maglor cannot bear to induce the torment his brother’s body and fëa have suffered into his melody as well, but when he tries to sing him his old song on his sickbed, Maedhros flinches away. And Maglor understands.

He has always tried to capture their fëa with his songs. But the people he wrote his songs about do not exist anymore, while at the same time he will not- cannot- erase this last piece of home, of a happier time, so he keeps the songs locked away in his mind, like a most priced jewel in a glass case, to be viewed but not touched again.

(Later, much later, when Maedhros steps forward, Silmaril in hand, into the fiery chasm, he does not remember his melody anymore.)

(When Caranthir dies alone in Doriath he hums.)

Yet still, parts of them, snippets of melody, make it into his greatest work before he realises it. His brothers’ songs become the strands that make up the frame of the Noldolantë, because as much as Maglor says the song is about the downfall of the Noldor, first and foremost, it is about his family.

He begins singing them again only after they are all gone.

They sound sad at first, because even the happiest song does when sung by a sad man,

but they become happier the longer he repeats them, and he is happier because he is with his brothers again and that feels so much more real than the cold, wet sand and hard rocks under his feet, and the chill clinging to his ragged clothes and protruding bones. 

The songs become happier and then they fade away.

But still they are sung in Valinor, where all those lost souls return to eventually.

After everything that has happened, it is not easy to remember the person you used to be and even harder to know who you are now.

When Nerdanel welcomes back her sons, who stumble out of the Halls like frightened children once again, she hums a melody to them that, she too, had locked away in her mind for a long time before releasing it again, in the times when the quiet was oppressing and the absence of her family like a physical wound. She hummed it under her breath or sang it to the empty room to remind herself her son had loved her once. 

Her own song. Calm and steady, slow where her husband’s had been fast, and repetitive where his had been ever changing. In every repetition a little detail had been changed, chiseled away like the outer layers of stone, until laid bare was the first song her son had ever written, a simple, sweet melody gifted by a little boy to his ammë.

She hums this melody into her sons’ ears when she takes them into her arms again for the first time in millennia, when they still cannot quite believe her to be real. Later she sings them another song, theirs, unchanged by time like none of them are, and her words are sincere and not filled with cruel irony.

The Ambarussa are the first to pick their melodies up again, and they begin to echo them back to each other like they did when they first learned them, and they rediscover that they are not alone.

Caranthir hums his song under his breath, and remembers he does not have to keep all his emotions hidden, and that his outbursts had once not only been angry, but filled with laughter as well.

Curufin repeats the familiar words, and recalls a time when his sharp tongue had been a source of amusement rather than manipulation, and his sharper mind had sough to solve complicated problems instead of creating them. 

Celegorm stands in the woods and imitates the animal calls his song helped him perfect long ago- and the animals answer him. He listens and laughs without cruelty, and remembers what love truly felt like.

Maedhros, when he finally arrives, sings the melody carefully, and when he tries to recreate its beauty, he remembers what it felt like to be whole and at peace.

But while they have their brother’s songs they do not have their brother.

They wait and they keep singing, hoping against all reason that somehow it might reach him, bring him comfort that they are safe now, bring him back to them.

He never comes. And so they cling to their songs in a way they cannot cling to him, and once again the songs remain unchanged.

Not because they pretend to be the same people they were before, but because this is the last thing they have of Makalaurë. He never wrote a song about himself, after all.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

time travel aus, amirite? since we’ve all decided to start talking about our ideas, i thought i’d throw my hat into the ring. i’ve actually had this idea for a while, i just wasn’t sure what to do with it because i barely have the patience for one-shots, let alone the continuous plotted longfic this would need

it’s not my idea, of course, i’m incapable of original thought. it’s based off this can-i-really-call-it-a-genre-if-it’s-two-fics-with-the-same-premise where some combination of maedhros, maglor, elros, and elrond land in the blessed realm before - even the unchaining, in my take, when the ambarussa are still children and the world is blissful. it’s more specifically my take on this fic, which takes elrond and elros from very early in their captivity and maedhros from just before the silmaril theft and maglor from several centuries into the second age. i just plugged my own characterisations into it, and, uh. the specific setup this not-genre uses is that maitimo and makalaurë *~mysteriously disappear,~* throwing their extended family into chaos, blah blah blah, and then a few decades later -

well. with my characterisations, we have a nightmare hellbeast who’s burned up everything he used to be in singular pursuit of an unreachable goal and has carved his very self into a weapon, a completely drained beaten-up husk barely cognisant of reality past the screaming in his mind who’s so utterly broken it’s debatable if he even counts as an elda, and two extremely young extremely traumatised children in a completely unfamiliar land- and skyscape whose only adult they can maybe-kind-of trust is currently bleeding from the eyes and shrieking wordless notes of utter despair

yeah, this au’s Fun. elrond and elros have maybe eight words of quenya between them, most of which are obscene, maedhros will act completely normal until he suddenly stabs himself in the arm because can’t this stupid hallucination end already, he has a character arc to tank, and maglor seems completely unaware he’s not still on the beach having the same cyclic arguments with the ghosts of the people he failed. the elves of valinor aren’t completely unprepared to deal with this, at least not the ones who remember cuiviénen, but it’s still a massive shock to see two of the children they came to the land of the gods to protect twisted and scarred like the worst victims of the dark. especially since noone can figure out why

so yeah. i have trouble finishing oneshot collections, so i doubt i’ll ever write this out in full, but i do have a lot of Scenes. fëanáro staring in utter horror at the oath, whispering ‘i made this.’ elros and elrond’s somewhat hole-filled explanation of their backstory devolving into a sindarin argument, and when the family asks tyelkormo what they’re talking about he freezes before saying ‘they’re arguing about whether maitimo killed their mother.’ the moment maglor finally managed to get through what happened after they got the silmarils to maedhros, who immediately switches from off-the-cuff self-harm to well-planned suicide attempts. the five-minute period the family hellspawn’s working theory was ‘they’re maitimo and makalaurë from an alternate universe where we’re evil’ (‘is there an evil version of me??? does he eat kids???????’ - tyelko) finwë going full bulldoze taniquetil in the background. fun times, might write some snippets in the future

but i like to think through the mechanics of this kind of time travel story too much, so i started wondering where maitimo and makalaurë, yanno, went. i quickly came to the conclusion that they probably swapped places with their evil future selves, giving me three time travel aus for the price of one! technically four but (a) i’m not sure if or with who the twins would swap and (b) if they did their alternate selves are probably having a really bad time and i don’t particularly want to think about it. the stories maitimo and makalaurë are in... they’re not necessarily any happier, but they are a lot more wtftastic

maitimo falls asleep under the light of the trees, on a relaxing retreat from the demands of court life and family-induced disasters. he wakes up in a world that’s almost completely dark, surrounded by plants he’s never seen before and wearing clothing designed for a much warmer climate, the scent of death in the air. now permanently separated from all his old problems, maitimo rapidly acquires several exciting new ones, including but not limited to:

everyone he ever loved being dead or worse

the lone possible exception, his last surviving little brother, being an almost unrecognisable blood-drenched kinslayer who hates everything in the universe especially himself

said blood-drenched kinslayer almost immediately imprinting on him like a grouchy murderous duckling

his future self having apparently wanted to kill even more people, why

getting dogpiled by like thirty dudes in full armour the instant they showed up at the army of the west’s camp to surrender

getting soul-scanned by eönw two minutes later. not fun

arafinwë pulling him into an enormous hug and then bursting into tears

the subsequent explanation as to just what happened to him and his brothers, which somehow got worse after he’d already thought they’d hit rock bottom like four separate times

proceeding to lose a staring contest with findaráto

the way everyone in camp looks at him like he’s an incredibly dangerous wild animal that might bite at any time

how if half of what arafinwë said is true he can’t even blame them, fuck, fuck

the twin half-elven(?????????????) princes he and his brother apparently kidnapped and held hostage for years, inflicting unimaginable cruelties as far as anyone knows

his first meeting with the kids happening when elrond broke into where they were holding maglor to scream at him in very loud very fast very angry sindarin for like half an hour

maglor just staring at him, eyes wide, ears pinned back, the whole time, and then trying to maul the first guard who mocked him for it

getting saddled with kinslayer containment duties in the aftermath of that whole incident

elrond punching him in the collarbone when he tried to apologise, shouting ‘you weren’t there, don’t you dare try to tell me what it was like’

elros’ visible half second of pure terror after the blow hit home

elros then using recognisable techniques from maitimo’s debate team circuit during a speech to the edain

like, clearly some shit did happen, but it’s obviously not what the local leadership’s afraid of

this sour-faced scar-covered warrior slipping out of the shadows in an unpopulated part of camp, kneeling before him, intoning ‘the swords of the host remain at your disposal my lord’ and then immediately vanishing

he didn’t recognise them until after they’d left but they were definitely one of his philosophy club friends, what even

just generally having woken up in a future a thousand times worse than his darkest nightmares

his natural instinct is to try and fix things, but how?? what’s even left to fix????

maglor sometimes goes into these unhinged desperate spiralling rambles directed at the older brother who exists in his head rather than the one in front of his eyes. whatever’s left of maitimo’s biggest little brother is clearly in so much pain

all the things he’s trying extremely hard not to think about because if he slows down enough to he’s pretty sure he’ll collapse

all the people he’s never met who hate him for pretty understandable reasons and whose social structure he now has to learn to have any hope of making it out of All This

the edain’s collective insistence on calling him pasthros

curufinwë isn’t even a hundred how does he have a kid

makalaurë, on the other hand, wakes up on a beach beneath a giant glowing orb. finding himself in a land so much barer than what he knows, among people whose souls don’t even work like his, his initial working theory is he’s been abducted by aliens

[yellow-faerie]

Yes, I definitely can! (I can’t seem to tag you so I hope you see this - I accidentally lost the ask, hence why it’s a picture)

From this prompt list.

13 - “Why are you crying?”

"Why are you crying?" Finrod asks softly.

It jerks Curufin back to the place he is sitting, in Finrod's drawing room, drowning in one of his obnoxiously fluffy blankets.

"I...I do not know what you mean," he says, thickly swallowing and rubbing his face of anything incriminating.

Finrod raises an eyebrow - and that is one of the irritating things about him, he always seems to know exactly how Curufin is feeling at any moment of time. "Really?"

Curufin scowls and draws his legs up underneath himself. Maybe it's a little childish to hide under the blanket but he dislikes the way that Finrod is looking at him, like he's about to discover every one of Curufin's secrets and open them for the world to see.

His gaze softens then and he perches on the other edge of the sofa.

"Melinya," he says, "what was it?"

"Just...thinking."

"About what?"

Curufin knows he's being probed - Finrod's barely trying to hide it - but he still finds himself opening his mouth.

"My father. And...growing up. Y'know, Valinor." He's picking at the fluff of the blanket now. It's not often that words are this thick on his tongue, this difficult to get out but tonight...

Tonight is his begetting day and, even if he has taken many cares to make sure no-one is here to recall that fact, it brings up emotion that clogs his thoughts and mouth.

"Well, that's what you get for attempting to avoid celebrating your begetting day altogether."

Curufin glares. Of course Finrod had the utter indecency to remember, that was just like him.

"I can see that you don't want a fuss about it, so I didn't say anything to your brother or to Tyelpë, but that doesn't mean you get to wallow in your emotions all night."

Curufin sighs, maybe a tad more dramatically than necessary. "And what do you recommend I do instead? Sleep? Well, I hate to inform you about my chronic insomnia but-"

"No, no! We're going to make a pillow fort."

Finrod looks so proud of himself that Curufin almost feels bad for how he frowns and says, "that's a stupid idea."

To Finrod's credit, this does not put him off. If anything, it makes his insufferably bright smile wider. "You say that now - but Tyelpë and Finduilas are out hunting with Edhellos and Tyelko and Orodreth will already be asleep. We have a whole night to ourselves, we might as well have some fun with it."

"Like wallowing in self-pity?" Curufin suggests but he's already pulling himself from the sofa and letting Finrod steal the blanket.

He is ignored as Finrod is pulled into the very complicated art of blanket-fort-making.

And Curufin may roll his eyes and make snide comments, but he also ends up curled up next to Finrod underneath the construction barely a few hours later, really rather comfortable.

[hey-its-nonny]

aragorn x fem!reader :)

(there’s an m! reader version of this btw)

pretty angsty

this started as a vent fic lol

i love arwen but she’s not gonna be here for this one ^ off to Valinor

~~~~~

With a soft, desperate breath, you ran as fast as you could into the moonlit woods.

Hot tears raced down your cheeks, rapidly reaching your chin before you tumbled onto the dirt, surrounded by trees. You couldn’t do it anymore. No matter what you did, they were never satisfied.

You understood that being the fiancée of the new-crowned king would be challenging, but you never expected it to be this hard. You loved Aragorn with all of your being, truly. He was kind, wise, selfless, and thoughtful.

You couldn’t have asked for a better companion.

The council, however, was not particularly a fan of your upcoming betrothal to Aragorn. You had no clue what you were doing, concerning royal duties, you stumbled over your words when you were speaking to someone important, and millions of little things the council had made you extremely aware of.

Not to mention you had the wedding to plan by yourself, mostly. No matter how hard you tried, you always seemed to lack something in their eyes. It was annoying and it wore your self esteem down more than you would‘ve cared to admit. The problem was you didn’t care anymore.

You didn’t care about your posture, or your inability to read over hundreds of documents in less than two days, and you certainly didn’t care about the fact that you didn’t come from royalty.

You could barely even care about yourself at this point.

You faintly heard your name being called in the distance, though you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about answering. Instead, you got up, and ran even further into the woods cloaked in darkness, ignoring everyone’s calls. After a few moments, you heard Aragorn’s own voice join the choir of people searching for you. But the further you ran, the further the calls got.

Except for Aragorn’s.

His voice remained, even though you ran away as fast as you could. And it stayed that way until you couldn’t run anymore. You broke down on the ground, surrounded by trees.

The air was hot and heavy while sweat trickled down your temple, making it hard for you to breathe. You gasped for air, your (h/l) hair sticking to the nape of your neck while the rest fell, surrounding your face.

Eventually, your attempts at breathing made you hyperventilate, and you panicked. Panicked and broken sobs broke the silence in the hot air, racking through your body ruthlessly. You were a mess.

At least, until Aragorn found you. The man bolted through the shrubs and trees, slowing to a stop once he saw you. And if he was correct, it was that very moment when he saw you that he felt his heart shatter.

He knew the stresses of a royal life were weighing on you, but he had no clue it was this bad. He knelt right beside you, gentle as a feather, and placed a strong hand on your back. Once you relaxed against the touch, he pulled you against his chest, where you broke down.

“I-” You choked, letting your hands slide weakly down the man’s chest. “I cannot do this, Aragorn.” You breathed out, panicked and broken eyes searching for the comfort of slate grey eyes.

Instead of receiving a look of disappointment or anger, you found a gentle reply waiting for you. “Why do you say this, mellon?” Was all he asked. He was quiet and careful, holding your gaze while gently running his fingers over your hair.

You sniffled, unaware of how relaxing the touch was. “I am not good enough for this, Aragorn. No matter what I try, the-“ Aragorn went still at your words, gently cupping your cheek. A fire lit the cool eyes you knew and loved alight, blazing with a passion you’d only seen a handful of times in your life.

He looked at you, and you felt as anxious as when you first met him, butterflies soaring in your stomach. You sharply inhaled a breath, and he spoke, voice low and filled with purpose. “Do not ever say you are not ‘good enough,’ Y/N.”

You sniffled again. “But-“ And Aragorn, for the first time ever, cut you off. “Ever.” He repeated, to which you gently nodded in reply. You didn’t quite understand why, though. He was so.. him. And in the same respect you were you. Flawed and imperfect. But that’s not what Aragorn saw when he looked at you.

“You are flawless in my eyes, and that is all that matters. Not what the council may think of you, or anyone else in this now healing kingdom. For they are not the ones who have the privilege of soon being wed to such an astonishing woman.” He smiled, moving his hand to cup your cheek and run his thumb across your cheek.

You melted on the spot, willing away your trembling lip. “They will not be pleased to find out the wedding is still on. Much less that I’ll be a part of it.” You whispered, leaning into the touch. “Y/N,” He chuckled, brushing your hair away from your face. “I have faced many troubles in my time, do you not think I can handle a small group of angry councilmen?”

Then, you laughed, wiping your tears away gleefully. “I would walk through the fires of Mordor for you, Y/N. If they ever cause you despair in this depth again, please tell me. I will take care of it.” He hummed, gently combing his fingers through your hair.

“I will, love. Thank you.”

“Thank you for staying by my side, even when it pained you. I can ask no more of you than that.”

“You and me until the end of all ages, melleth nîn.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~~~~~

hope y’all liked it!

should i make a part two for the actual wedding? let me know!

tags: @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @ahs0katan @eru-vande :)